Yes, I’ve already gone and trimmed Bennett’s hair.
I know it seems hasty, but hear me out.
You see, babies get mullets. For some reason, the hair at the nape likes to grow full speed ahead while we’re lucky to barely see peach fuzz peeking out around the sides. Behind Bennett’s left ear, a pointy clump was beginning to gather and would have soon turned into a rattail, followed by a mullet.
Listen, in the realm of motherhood, I’m likely going to fall short in so many areas that I’ve finally decided that in THIS arena, the arena of hair, I don’t HAVE to tolerate awkward stages. Bennett might bruise himself when toppling over onto our hardwood floors, he might get teased for having a mom that packs the type of lunches only hippies would appreciate, he might get embarrassed about me kissing him in front of his classmates… There’s just so many ways to humiliate my boy that I’ve finally determined that, if it’s at all up to me, I’d like for Bennett to look back at his childhood pictures and not think to himself, “What was she thinking leaving my hair like that?” I’d like to avoid the obvious chip-chops and hope that for as long as possible, my son doesn’t look like he’s had a haircut at all.
So, yes, during dinner a few nights ago, I allowed Bennett to play with his food and spoon. This kept his face looking down and provided me the perfect angle to get in there with some scissors. I really only concentrated on the back two corners. There’s presently a teeny tiny clump of hair preserved in a Ziploc bag for the tradition of keeping all first-time moments sacred.